License to Scare
by theicemenace
Summary: Early in his SHIELD training, Phil realizes that he's missing a crucial element of Clint's training. May add to this story. We'll see.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is a humorous fic that came to me while I was, well, driving. Hope you enjoy.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**License to Scare**

**Driving**

Sitting across from Director Fury, Phil, normally easygoing and laid-back, was just a little nervous. Clint Barton was the first agent for whom he'd overseen every facet of his training from day one to today. If the director approved, Barton would be off on his first solo mission within the week. If he didn't…well, that didn't bear worrying about unless or until there was a need.

The door chime rang, but Fury didn't even twitch. "Come in."

The chief bridge officer, Agent Andrew Chang entered, standing next to Phil at parade rest. Chang had been career Army until recruited by SHIELD and it showed. "Sir, I need a word with Agent Coulson."

Without looking up, Fury waved the two men away. Phil followed Chang to just outside Fury's office door. Chang spoke urgently and what he had to say was more than a little surprising. "What?!"

"Agent Barton…"

"I heard you, Chang." Rubbing his forehead to ease the ache that had just started behind his eyes, Phil considered the information he'd just been given. "Where's Barton now?"

Chang consulted his workstation monitor. "The gym, sir."

Phil tapped his comm. "Director, there's a situation that needs my attention…yes, sir." He closed that line and opened another. "Coulson to Barton. My office. Now!"

~~O~~

Coulson's voice echoed in the vast room filled with every kind of workout equipment available. On the mat in the center of the room, Clint was on the floor with Natasha's legs wrapped around his neck so tight he'd've thought she was trying to crack a walnut. He tapped her outer thigh, speaking a strangled voice, "Hey, that's me."

Without remorse, Natasha released him and was on her feet faster than he could blink, one hand reaching out to help him stand. He rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders while she smirked. "You're a glutton for punishment, Hawkeye."

Clint rolled his eyes as he retrieved his towel and water bottle. "I'm only here for _you_. And because no one else is dumb enough to say yes." She scoffed, and Clint snorted. "You telling me you don't notice the guys run the other way when they see you coming?"

Shrugging, Natasha blotted her neck and face with a towel. "I take you on because you're the only one on this boat who comes even close to challenging me."

Opening the door, Clint ushered Natasha out ahead of him. She may be the toughest agent in SHIELD, but she was also a woman. Something that was brought home to him every time they were out and about together. Men of all ages were entranced by her beauty and sexuality, him included, though their romantic partnership had ended before she'd even joined SHIELD. Now they were just a man and a woman who shared a very strong bond of friendship. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Nat, but keep talking."

"_Eblan!_"

They parted at a junction where Clint broke into a jog until he reached Coulson's office. One last swipe of the towel to remove residual perspiration then he announced his presence. The door opened and he stepped inside.

This wasn't the first time Clint had been inside Coulson's office, but now it felt different. Usually, Coulson smiled and offered him both a drink and a seat. This time Coulson looked daggers at him as if he'd just kicked a puppy. Falling back on his training, Clint set his towel and bottle at his feet and clasped his hands behind his back as he'd been taught at the orphanage. "You asked to see me, sir?"

Coulson leaned back in his chair pinning Clint with outrage in his blue eyes. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Where and when did you learn to drive?"

Almost sagging in relief that it wasn't something life threatening, Clint let his features relax. "With Carson's. I was fourteen and Beppo the clown taught me to drive his sixty-nine Ford F-250 Flatbed Custom SEE. It was sweet! We rebuilt the engine in…" He trailed off when Coulson abruptly got to his feet.

"And _when_ did you get your license?"

Now Clint was confused. "License?" Coulson rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself, a mannerism that was more than a little familiar to Clint because he'd just said something that annoyed or frustrated the senior agent.

"Yes, a _driver's_ license. You _have_ heard of them?"

"Yeah, but I figured SHIELD would take care of that when I…" Again Clint trailed off, clearing his throat and waiting for Coulson to continue. During his training, Clint felt that the two of them had become friends, but the other man's actions indicated otherwise at the moment.

Coulson came to stand in front of him. "Unfortunately, that's one thing that even SHIELD can't get around. And because your residence of record is New York, you are required to attend a driver's education class before you can be issued a license."

"And that means…"

Now Coulson grinned. But it wasn't a humorous grin. It was the kind that meant trouble for Clint. "You're going to school."

The thought of actually having to attend an actual school filled Clint with an emotion akin to panic. "But…"

"Pack your bags. You'll be staying at a SHIELD safe house in Queens while you attend high school."

"_High school_?! But I'm…"

Now Coulson chuckled. "Yes, I know. Can't be helped." He returned to his chair, flopping into it with a grin, the signal that Clint was dismissed.

At the door, Clint turned. "You're enjoying this _way_ too much."

"Oh, I am enjoying this just enough." Crossing one leg over the other, Coulson crossed his arms. "Your ride leaves in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."

~~O~~

Six weeks after Phil sent Barton off to take driver's education at a high school in Queens, he returned to pick him up using the opportunity to take his personal vehicle, a black Dodge Viper, out for a spin. Today, Barton would take a written and practical driving exam and hopefully get his license. To that end, Phil had the FBI lend them one of their company vehicles. A nice, safe four door sedan with a V-6 engine, and best of all, _no_ specialized equipment.

He picked Barton up at the safe house and drove directly to the nearest DMV office where he sent his charge inside while he waited with the other "parents." A few minutes later, Barton came out with a canned drink from the vending machine to lounge against the side of the Viper. The man was just too cocky sometimes. He'd just finished off the drink and tossed the can in the trash when a balding man wearing a permanent scowl and carrying a clipboard approached the group. "Barton! You're up."

~~O~~

Clint tossed a set of keys in the air, catching them with the same hand. "Let's do it." He hopped into the front seat of the Viper, strapped on his seat belt and waited for the examiner to get in the passenger seat and do the same. The engine roared as he started it up startling Coulson.

"Hey! How'd you get my keys?" The senior agent reached into his pocket coming up with the key to the FBI sedan.

"See ya!" Clint slipped on a pair of wraparound matte black Oakley's, grinned and waved as he backed out of the parking space and pulled into traffic.

With his pen poised to make notes, the examiner said, "Turn right at the next light, go four lights and turn left. Once on Turnbull Road, go five blocks then make a U-turn."

"You got it." The light changed, Clint made a right, gunned the engine and roared down the street at least twenty-five miles over the posted speed limit. He managed to hit each of the next three lights while they were still green, swerving into the left lane at the last possible second and taking the left turn way faster than he should have. Downshifting, he sped up to get in front of a slow moving-to him-Caddy, swerved into the right lane to go around a minivan then cut back to the left, braking barely enough to make the U-turn. "Where to next, pal?" There was no response so Clint chanced a quick look to his right. The man's eyes were wide, the clipboard having fallen on the floor, and both hands holding onto the dash with a vice-like grip. "You okay?"

"Y-yes. G-go straight. We have to-Oh _God!_"

The last was apparently in response to Clint zig-zagging around the slow moving traffic ahead of him. "Highway?" Clint heard muttering that sounded like praying and wondered why the guy was so shaken up.

"NO! No. J-just turn left-I mean right at the next light and turn into the mall parking lot."

Clint followed the instructions, again weaving around the slower vehicles until he saw all three lanes were blocked. Not wanting to drag this out, he hopped the curb, drove down the sidewalk past the other cars, swerved back into the street, drove another hundred yards then turned into the parking lot as he'd been instructed. "Where is it?"

The man couldn't speak so he just pointed.

On the far side of the lot away from the mall's main parking, he saw the set-up. Grinning again, he downshifted to go around several vehicles in the outskirts of the parking, aimed for the parking space indicated and floored it.

He didn't even glance at the speedometer as he smoothly shifted from one gear to the other. As he approached the parking spot, he cranked the wheel hard, skidding into a one eighty and coming to a complete stop perfectly aligned between the cones.

With a smirk and more than a touch of pride, he looked over at the examiner and the man had passed out. Shrugging, Clint returned to the DVM station, skidding to a stop in front of the building.

His best scowl in place, Coulson walked over and leaned on the top edge of the windshield. "How did it go?"

"Aced it." He cast another glance at the man beside him then reached over and shook him. "Hey, pal. We're here."

The man looked around then down at himself as if to ascertain that he'd indeed arrived in one piece, retrieved his clipboard from the floor, made a few notes with a trembling hand and passed Clint a sheet of paper. In a shaky voice he said, "C-congratulations. You p-passed." He opened the door, jumped out and ran inside.

Full of himself, Clint grinned. "Told ya." Without opening the door, Clint jumped out of the Viper, shrugged his jacket back into place and smoothed his hair down with one hand as he headed for the door. "Time to get my picture taken."

~~O~~

Barton was out again in just a few minutes surprising Phil. "That didn't take long."

Shrugging, Barton flicked the plastic coated card in his left hand. "They sent me to the front of the line. Even got my license _today_ instead of waiting for it to come in the mail."

Phil held out his hand and Barton obediently dropped the keys to the Viper in his hand. "How'd you do parallel parking?"

"Nailed it first try. _What?_"

The examiner came out the front door, took one look at Barton, ran to his car, jumped in and peeled out of the parking lot without looking back. The senior agent gave him one of _those_ looks. "_What_ did you _do?_"

Shoving his hands in his pockets with a sheepish grin, Barton shrugged. "You remember that time in Paris? There was a sweet parking spot right in front of that little café where we were meeting our contact and some jerk in a Bugatti was headed for it."

"I remember." Barton grinned wider adding in an eyebrow lift when Phil rolled his eyes. "You _didn't!_"

"You shoulda been there. I thought that guy was gonna crap his pants." Phil opened the driver's door of the Viper and got in. "Hey, I got my license now. Let me drive."

Phil slipped on a pair of Oakleys similar to the ones Barton wore, started the engine and backed carefully out of the parking space. "No."

Barton's eyebrows drew together over his nose in confusion. "But I'm legal now."

Pulling sedately into the afternoon traffic, Phil braked smoothly to a stop at the light. "You're also grounded…"

"What?!"

"…for a month." And while Barton sputtered and complained, Phil grinned and drove on, diligently obeying every traffic law.

Just as they reached SHIELD headquarters, Barton turned to him with a grin. "So, when this 'grounding' is over, can I learn to fly?"

**End**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This is a humorous fic that came to me while I was, well, driving. Hope you enjoy.

Still about driving. Will get to the flying soon.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**License to Scare**

**Driving 2**

Phil opened the driver's door of the Viper and got in. "Hey, I got my license now. Let me drive."

The senior agent slipped on a pair of Oakleys similar to the ones Barton wore, started the engine and backed carefully out of the parking space. "No."

Barton's eyebrows drew together over his nose in confusion. "But I'm legal now."

Pulling sedately into the afternoon traffic, Phil braked smoothly to a stop at the light. "You're also grounded…"

"What?!"

"…for a month." And while Barton sputtered and complained, Phil grinned and drove on, diligently obeying every traffic law.

Just as they reached SHIELD headquarters, Barton turned to him with a grin. "So, when this 'grounding' is over, can I learn to fly?"

~~O~~

"No."

Taken aback, Clint shifted in his seat. "When this training began you said being a pilot was part of the job."

Without taking his eyes off the road, Coulson shrugged one shoulder. "As your instructor, I reserve the right to make changes to the curriculum whenever I feel there's a need."

Turning to look out the window, Clint watched the scenery go by until the solution came to him. "I know what this is about."

"Oh?"

Clint grinned and waved his finger in the air in triumph. "You're doing this because I borrowed…"

"_Stole_."

Rolling his eyes, Clint made air quotes, "…_misappropriated_ your precious car. This baby…" he caressed the dashboard reverently, "…has an eight 8.4 liter V-10 engine, a Borg Warner T-56 six-speed manual transmission, and does 0-60 is four seconds. What's the use of having a car like this if you don't drive it the way it was meant to be driven?"

The car came to a smooth stop before the crosswalk, just like the manual said. It was _so_ annoying! _Why can't he take a risk now and then?_

"Like you just did?" Coulson spoke in his normal, even, slightly bored tone, pushing his sunglasses up on his head and piercing Clint with a glare.

Snorting, Clint slung his left arm over the back of his seat, turning sideways so he could see Coulson. He thought of the man as a mentor though he'd rather let mice crawl all over his naked body than admit it. After living a nomadic life with the circus from the age of twelve to less than a year ago, Clint had taken a while to acclimate to living and working at the SHIELD training compound in Quantico. Used to being in one place for two weeks at the most, staying put had made him restless, and having someone to talk to during those times had helped him adjust.

For the first few weeks, Clint had slept on the roof until a hurricane hit the area and he was forced inside. Thankfully, the claustrophobic feeling abated a little more each day. Now it seldom bothered him and when it did, he went for a run or took a folding chair to the roof and just watched the stars. The mundane looking building only sported four stories above ground, not even hinting at the twenty floors beneath. Most were R&D and he wasn't yet cleared to enter those areas. He'd once attempted to crawl through the ducts and had been knocked unconscious by a force field that acted like a Taser. Awakening in the Med Bay, the first thing he'd seen when he opened his eyes again were the scowling faces of Coulson and Fury. The director, he could handle, but the disappointment Phil projected had kept Clint was trying it again. So he came up with other ways of amusing himself.

Seeing the light was about to change, Coulson dropped his shades back into place and Clint could swear he smirked. "It also has a top speed of one eighty-five. But that's a theory I've never tested."

Shrugging again, Clint faced front. "I didn't even get _close_ to that so why're you giving me grief?"

~~O~~

From the corner of his eye, Phil watched Barton as he adjusted his seat belt snuggly over his lap and across his chest. Ignoring Barton's question, Phil pushed the clutch down to the floor and dropped into first gear.

Grinning, the SHIELD agent kept his eyes on the signal light, and the second it turned green, he brought his right foot down on the gas pedal while letting out the clutch. The Viper spun its wheels, the screeching loud with the top down. It shot through the intersection amidst peeling rubber and smoking tires throwing Barton back and pinning him in his seat.

Weaving in and out of the traffic, Phil shifted smoothly, his right hand joining the left on the steering wheel once he'd reached sixth gear. The light up ahead turned yellow just as Phil pressed down on the gas, his speed well over the posted limit.

He slowed down when he came up on slower traffic, riding the rear bumper of a Chevy. As soon as a space opened up, he swerved around the Chevy, changed lanes inside an intersection as he made a right turn. Within minutes, he ran a stop sign and gained even more speed. A highway ramp beckoned and Phil gave into the call. Ignoring the two teenagers about to step off the curb, he made a hard left, blew through a red light causing the cross traffic to slam on their brakes and honk their horns.

Phil drove on, nudging the speedometer up past the one fifty and headed quickly for two hundred, his grin still in place and eyes on the road. Barton shifted in his seat and cleared his throat as Phil did his best to rattle the archer's calm. Without looking, he knew that his protégé, as he liked to think of him, was using all his will power to not show that he was…concerned.

_I can use that_, Phil mused to himself, his grin going internal as if he too were alarmed about the situation. The senior agent let off the gas, the whine of the engine throttling back loud with the top down, and Barton slumped in his seat, exhaling the breath he'd been holding.

At the high-five junction, Phil took the highest ramp, the northbound exit, at twenty miles over the speed limit, slowing as he reached the apex then speeding up again as he reached the bottom where it joined the next highway. There was less traffic here so he again bumped his speed up, quickly passes his previous high and headed toward the "suggested" highest of one eighty-five.

A sharp intake of air came from Barton as he grabbed the dash and pushed both feet against the floorboard way under the glove compartment has they neared closely packed traffic moving barely moving. He wrenched the wheel sharply to the left turning the Viper into the median. Once he'd passed the slow traffic he yanked the wheel to the right and pulled back onto the roadway.

"What the _hell!_ Coulson!"

The high-pitched whine of a police siren started at the edge of Phil's hearing coming closer with every second and flashing lights appeared in the rear view mirror. "Relax, Barton. Looks like the cops are coming to save you."

Phil held in a snort of laughter as Barton's tightly muttered, "Thank God!" as he came to a stop under an overpass.

A pair of state troopers walked up to the car, one on either side. The one at the driver's door unexpectedly smiled. "Hey, Mr. Coulson. Haven't seen you and your ride in these parts for a while."

"Good to see you again, Roy."

The muscular trooper looked at his partner. "Jerry, this here's the guy I was tellin' you about."

Jerry tipped his hat. "Pleasure, sir."

"Work's been hectic the last few months, Roy, so I was just taking her out for a spin. This is my friend, Clint Barton."

The two law enforcement officers nodded a greeting to Clint who returned the gesture. Roy leaned on the top edge of the windshield. "So what you get up to this time?"

"Just hit one seventy-nine when you stopped me."

"Too bad we had to stop you. There's an accident up the road a ways and you were about to run right into it. We're sending everyone off the highway onto alternate routes. Best go back the way you came."

Now Phil was genuinely concerned and he could feel the same from Barton. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Yeah. But CareFlight picked 'em and they're at Mercy Hospital. They have the best trauma center in the area."

He'd been so quiet that Phil was surprised when Barton spoke. "Anything we can do to help?"

Roy shook his head. "Just a matter of cleanin' up now. But thanks for askin'." He stepped back. "Take it easy now, guys."

Using the emergency turnaround, Phil headed back the way they'd come albeit at a much slower pace. Nothing was said between the two men until they reached the airstrip for the ride back to the helicarrier. Before they climbed the ramp, Barton drew Phil to a stop. "I get it now."

"Get what?"

"There's a time and place for taking chances. And just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

Phil considered Barton's words and the sincerity in his tone and expression. Clapping his companion on the shoulder, he smiled. "Sounds like a lesson learned. Come on. I'll buy you a beer when we get back to the helicarrier."

"Thanks." Phil started up the ramp just ahead of Barton, not stopping when the archer asked, "Does that mean my grounding is rescinded?"

Pursing his lips to hide the grin his smile had turned into, Phil said, "No."

Barton came up beside him, hitting the control to close the hatch. "Had to ask."

"No, you didn't." Taking a seat on the starboard side, Phil crossed one leg over the other as Barton flopped into the seat across from him. After a short pause, the senior agent called out, "Lieutenant Davis, how about letting Probationary Agent Barton co-pilot this flight?"

The young Air Force pilot took off his headset and stood behind the "shotgun" seat, patting the headrest. "Let's go, Probie. We got a world to save."

From the corner of his eye, Phil saw a brief flicker of excitement cross Barton's face and just as quickly was extinguished as he rushed forward and slid into the seat, listening intently as Davis gave him instructions.

**End**


End file.
